


Desolation

by mountian_sunsets



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cold War, Communism, Fluff, Historical References, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, McCarthyism, Nature, Period-Typical Homophobia, i put actual math in this too, pretty straight up falling in love thing, very lightly implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountian_sunsets/pseuds/mountian_sunsets
Summary: Fire Lookout Towers were built in the beginning of the 20th century on high peaks and trees, with the sole purpose of using human eyes to determine when and where a fire was developing in remote locations. The Forest Service would pay seasonal employees over the summer to hike to  lookout towers, where they would remain in solitude, their only contact a two-way radio to the ranger station.-After leaving his job in the American and British armies as a computer scientist, George Davidson has few prospects in life.  Searching for a place to stay and escape his life back in Britain, he finds a job offering through the US Forest Service to be a fire lookout on a mountaintop in the Cascades.  He immediately applies, and upon receiving a letter he'd be going to Desolation Peak, uses his remaining savings from the army to buy a plane ticket to Seattle and head up the Skagit Valley.-Based on the writings and experiences of Jack Kerouac and the life story of Alan Turing, an AU where George is a computer science for the army in 1954, who has to leave.A dreamnotfound short fic, discussing period-specific homophobia, McCarthyism and the Cascade Mountains.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 18





	Desolation

**Author's Note:**

> (terms are defined in the notes at the end)

George is glad he'd kept secretly saving his wages from the Imperial Armies of the greatest superpowers in the world.He has just enough for a plane ticket to Seattle, Washington and a couple cans of food. 

The plane from London is long, as he holds his bag tightly in his arms, careful to keep it's contents safe from prying eyes. 

Seattle is grey and rainy— the air remains chilly and the skies overcast.He takes a train from the airport, walking around Pike's Place and pulling his wool coat tight.Freshly caught fish fly through the air, the smell of flower mixing with the falling drizzle.George finds shelter by a corner in the market, next to a poster encouraging people to report any communist activity.He smiles to himself.Ironic.

He uses the last of his savings to purchase enough food to sustain himself for the summer, taking a complimentary newspaper to shield his hair from falling rain.Reading the bus signs and paying the fare, George manages to reach the ranger station at the edge of town, where he'll be taken to the station in Marbelmount. 

He rides in the back of a van with many burly men, all heading to various peaks within the Cascades.George was incredibly out of place— there he sat, his pressed coat and British accent, holding his bag of contraband and brain full of classified secrets of the future.He's seen the equations, the notecards, and the codes of the last ear computers, and worked to give a pile of wires the voice and reasoning of a human.Those mathematical equations, those algorithms would be the future, a future so powerful the great imperial powers that be struggled to contain it, to use it for their own ends.They used him just like they'd used the burly men on all sides, who'd spent their lives slaving away, no union to protect them.

Opening the newspaper and being greeted with depictions of America in flames, he gives a small sigh— he certainly couldn't say his thoughts out loud.

At the Marbelmount ranger station, the men go through a rigorous fire fighting training and head further up the Skagit Valley, more and more of the men breaking off as he continues further up. He crosses the breathtakingly blue Lake Diablo, across the dam, and across Ross Lake by a small dingy. The Ranger drops him off at the edge of the lake with a map. Exiting and watching the last person he'd see the entire summer speed off, George touches a hand in the warm lake before heading up the trail. 

The trail is a stunning six miles up to Desolation Peak— the air is damp and cold, permeating into his bones. The solitude, mixed with the verdant pines and soft drizzle rejuvenates him. He was free; free from the constrains of society, free from the ever-reaching grasp of the army— he can finally be himself. 

The hike goes fast in his glee, and he quickly finds the small, white building on the top of the peak. It would be his home for the summer, his refuge from his past that followed him. Radioing the Ranger Station that he'd arrived, he opens the door and walks in.

He puts his cans of food on the counter— there's no electricity, just a wood burning stove and a chilly cabinet.A couch sits by the door, a bed in the back corner.The house is warm and cozy, just the perfect temperature to stay out of the perpetual mist of the Cascades, a reprieve from the summer sun.

It's homely, it's inviting, just as the man standing in the doorway is.

The gentleman has an unreadable expression in his eyes— his dirty blond hair lays, disheveled across his eyes, a scruffy beard outlining his his jaw.The man smiles.

"Ah, the fire watch, you're here.I'll be heading out."

He offers no information about his wearaboughts. 

"Stay for dinner," George offers immediately.He can't place it, but the man is enchanting— reminiscent of old friends, since gone. 

They eat a meal George heats from a can on the small stove, sitting at the small table. 

"What brings you here?" He offers.

"Writing," the man responds with a smile."And you?"

"It was time for me to escape," he offers. 

"From England?"

"I worked in America a lot."

A silence fell between them as they ate.It was comfortable, as he realized who the man felt like. Old friends— Friends of a friend you could say.

"Say, what do I call you?" He speaks, looking up from his meal.

"Call me Dream, that's all I am."

"You're not real?"

The man laughs.He has a strange wheeze."I'm merely living the dream, I've become consumed by it."

He understood the sentiment. 

"And your name?"

"George."

The man— _Dream_ — sleeps on the couch that night.The house gets cold, as George is glad for his military-grade blanket. He pulls the blanket tight, and wakes up with the sunrise.

Dream shows him the nearest stream to collect water from in the morning, and in the afternoon George reads from his small, brown book as Dream scratches hastily in a moleskin notebook.

The cover of the book is not normally brown— it should be white, with a small tree on the from. His copy is only brown due to wheat paste and a bag over its cover. He got the book for twenty pounds from a man living on the streets back in London. He'd had savings, and wanted to help the man collect more works, hence the steep the price. 

He'd sought after the book for many years, and planned for more to hide it from his employers for many more. Still, the knowledge was worth the risk to George. Sitting in the early afternoon sun shinning through the clouds, he finally gets to read. In the mountains of the Northwest, secluded from everyone but a strange man of questionable mental state, he is free.

He opens the dried pages— they are beat up from the months of hiding them in drawers and bags, occasional water seeping through them. 

The book is everything he's everything he's ever wanted. It places a name to what he's always know, to what he's always believed, explained in words he could never manage to string together. It explains the ideals he believes should gain power— the ideals that would get him killed, with the steps to report him on the countless newspapers he brought up to hide the small book.

_"We, in civilized societies, are rich. Why then are the many poor? Why this painful drudgery for the masses? Why, even to the best paid workman, this uncertainty for the morrow, in the midst of all the wealth inherited from the past, and in spite of the powerful means of production, which could ensure comfort to all in return for a few hours of daily toil?"_

Those words. Those words encompass every thought he's ever had. Those words explain why he joined and left the military; why he dedicated his life to technology only to abandon it as he saw his work used to perpetuate a loosing war, giving nothing to the people. 

There was no point to technology, no point to the advancement of human knowledge if it didn't function to help the working people in their everyday lives.

He spends his day, pouring over the words in the book, absorbing the writings of long-ago philosophers.

At night, he makes food for him and Dream, and they eat, making comfortable, light conversation.

"Are you an author by trade?" he asks.

"I used to act, back in Florida. I left it for here to start writing," Dream replies.

George wouldn't say it, but he had a sneaking suspicion he knew why the man suddenly stopped acting and disappeared to the woods. He'd have to make sure, but it would explain the familiar air around him. He longs for someone to discuss philosophies with him again.

"Florida, that's tropical right?" He settles on, knowing more than to push.

"Certainly colder up here. It's beautiful here."

He nods. It truly is.

"What did you do?"

"Mathematician," George responds with a smile. He's found it easier to say he works with math, as most don't understand computers. Likely because it's mostly classified, but he doesn't think classifications matter out here.

"Math, hm? Never liked it, what do you do with it?"

"Have you heard of computing?"

Dream shakes his head.

"It's the way of the future," George smiles. "Soon, we won't need to do math or think about complex equations. We can make circuit boards do the math and print it out to us, infinitely faster and more accurate than a human could."

"There's no way that's real."

"It is; it's classified still, but laws don't apply here."

"True."

"Would you like to see how it works?"

Dream nods, and George pushes aside his food, retrieving his own notebook and pen, upcapping it with his teeth.

"This is what I worked on," he says, scratching out writing on his notebook.

_"f(t)= √ (|t|)+5t^3_

_calculate:_

_c@VA t@IC x@½C y@RC z@NC_

_INTEGERS +5 →c_

_→t_

_+t TESTA Z_

_-t ENTRY Z_

_SUBROUTINE 6 →z_

_+tt →y →x_

_+tx →y →x_

_+z+cx CLOSE WRITE 1 "_

"This code will solve that equation if you give it any integer value of t," he explains, pointing to parts of his writing. 

Dream shook his head. "You could be crazier than me and I wouldn't know it."

Math certainly was a whole other world for people. "If you give it a number, it will convert it to a different one. I can convert it, but a computer could do it faster with that programming."

"So if I give you the number five, what does that become?"

George pauses, running the calculation is his head. Two-two three six, plus five to the fourth power... "Six hundred twenty-seven and two-tenths," he says.

"You're making that up," Dream says with a smile.

"It's a function of t, and that symbol," he points to the square root sign, "is a square root. It means you find the number that does into t twice, which is five, and that's around two and two tenths. Then you multiply five by t, and cube it. That's the three, and you multiply it by itself three times, which is a hundred twenty-five, and multiply it by another five, that gives you six-hundred twenty-five. You add the two and two tenth, that gives you six hundred twenty seven and two tenths." He smiles. "A computer can do that in seconds."

"I did not understand a single word you just said."

"It's useful in the military and rockets. Some people even think we can visit the moon with these."

"No way."

"I actually worked on it some! The math isn't too hard, there's just a lot of integrals we need to calculate to find the curved trajectory. It's almost easier since space isn't affected by the sphere of the earth." He stops when Dream looks like he doesn't understand anything.

"I've never been one for math, but I'd certainly like to see the moon in person. Say, why'd you leave? You have a talent for this," Dream asks.

The real answer is that he was steps away from being killed or imprisoned. "Difference of opinions," he responds instead.

"On the math?"

"On how to use it. All the computers are used for missiles and warfare."

"Sad. I would like to see the moon."

"As would I."

Silence feel as they continued to eat. 

The days get longer and warmer, stretching well into June. Dream stays long past a simple dinner, but George likes having him there— his presence is comforting. 

They have no fires to report, and George finishes reading his book.It is everything he felt and more, and although he feels he may never get to speak of it, he knows where he stands. 

"Say," Dream begins on a cloudy afternoon as they sit on top of the peak, breeze ruffling their ever-longer hair."Why'd you really leave the army?"

"I suppose I sit on the wrong side, you could say," he replies, careful to remain vague. 

Dream is silent.

"I left because HUAC came for me," he bursts out suddenly.

George heard of it, but didn't know the term immediately."Remind me what that is?"

"They put suspected communists in prison, mostly actors." Dream runs a hand along the flora, and George wonders what his life was like back in Florida.

"Not a fan of the capitalist pigs?" He offers, breath in his throat.

"You could say that.I would certainly be in prison if I didn't run."

"Workers of the world, unite," George whispers.

"We have nothing to loose but our chains," Dream responds.

George breaks out into a grin."I thought I'd never have anyone else to talk to."

"Comrade," Dream smiles back.

"I met people that had been to Korea before the war, you know," he says, looking over the mountains below him."They said it was better, they said the capitalists ruined it."

"I hope the US looses."

"They are, I heard commanders talking about it."

Dream smiles."You think us reds will win?"

"I do," he responds."The Soviets are already ahead in technology."

"I hope they win soon," Dream looks out to the mountains. 

"I hope McCarthy gets shot."

They both grin.

"If I wasn't blacklisted, I'd buy a gun and do it myself."

They both laugh— it's a release.They're overjoyed, they've finally found someone else.Another communist.

That night, George shows Dream his book.The Conquest of Bread by Peter Kropotkin: another take to communism, against much of the USSR's actions. 

It's a more decentralized view of a communist society, and George and Dream have a long discussion of it, stretching well into the night.They go to sleep late and wake up with the sunrise, pouring over the words on the pages at every waking moment. 

Their discussion lulls."The army must have despised you," Dream smiles, running a hand through his hair.

George smiles back."Between being a red and a friend of Dorothy, I certainly couldn't say much."

"A friend of Dorothy, you say?"

His false explanation in the front of his throat, George nods.

"I suppose you could I'm an acquaintance," Dream looks at him with piercing, yellow eyes.

"You are?"

"I was married to a woman back in Florida, but I like to keep my options open, if you know what I mean."

"What happened to her?"

"Left.Doctors said it was hysteria.Have you had anyone?"

"Been had," he smiles."But yes.He got caught, I narrowly avoided it.I left shortly after, used all my savings to get here and take the lookout post."

"I've certainly had... friends of Dorothy," Dream raises an eyebrow."Back in my youth, I was quite popular."

"I can see why."

Dream laughs."I looked much better in the movies."

"My, I would certainly come to... meet Dorothy with you, if you would have me," he breathes.

"I'd love to."

"Right here?There's no one to stop us."

Dream simply reaches a hand across the table, George grasping it back.Their hands fit perfectly, sharing warmth.

George smiles.It had been so long.

"Why come here, let me kiss you."

George immediately gets up and they walk over to the small couch, not letting go of each other's hands.Their lips meet on the couch, as a soft rain begins to fall outside their window. 

They wake up in the morning on the single bed, only the blanket and each other to keep them warms.George lays a head on Dream's chest, their hands intertwined in the soft mountain sunrise. 

"Stay with me," he breathes.

"How long?"

"Forever— until we win and long after; until we no longer have to hide."

Dream caresses his face."That sounds perfect, darling."

The days come and go— there is only one fire George has to radio in before the ranger station says he can leave. He doesn't want to. 

Dream suggests he picks up the money he earned and head southeast for the winter. George can buy food Marblemount, keeping the extra money for the next time they need more food. They are vagabonds now— they are free. They live everywhere and nowhere at the same time. No one can govern them, no one can stop them besides the myriad of people that want them dead in every town they'll pass through. 

The two days it takes George to stop in Marbelmount are the longest days of his life.

He gently kisses his lover goodbye before leaving to meet a ranger on Ross Lake. In the small town, he purchases as much food as he can carry in his bag, new notebooks, and a couple maps of the area for a month's wages. Walking out, he grabs a newspaper, before paying for a boat ride back across the icy blue waters of Lake Diablo and rides in silence with another man across Ross Lake. When he gets out, only raising a in hand goodbye, he nearly runs up the trail.

His bag weighs him down but he pays no mind, as he returns to his lover's arm on the mountain tops. They embrace, sharing a small kiss, before George unpacks what he's bought. 

The next morning, they look over the newspaper and break into laughter, leaning against each other. 

"The _army?_ " Dream calls in his familiar wheeze. 

"My, if they liked us then maybe I'd still have a job."

"Someone toss the blacklist."

They continue laughing. 

"I'm quite glad he's wrong. If I didn't have to leave, I wouldn't have met you."

Dream kisses him in response.

McCarthy had begun hearings against the United States Army for being too soft towards communists in June, but they'd missed the news initially. As hearings continued into September when George picked up the newspaper, the two found out the news, to their great amusement.

"They did let a communist work on their computers though," George smiles, kissing Dream back.

"And one into their movies."

"Homosexual debutants at that."

"Maybe Gay Space Communism will be the future."

They laugh again. What a proposal.

As the days get colder, the two of them end in Utah. They find a Newspaper saying McCarthy lost his case against the army, and stay in a small cabin in the middle of the desert. They laugh hysterically at the fall of McCarthy and hike to mystical arches of rock. At night they sleep soundly, holding each other in their arms. They live in isolation, keeping to their own world. 

They see less and less propaganda as they go into towns, but no further acceptance of the deviancy from the norm. Neither of them mind. 

One day, things will be better; one day they can perhaps be open about themselves. 

They are simply from the wrong time. They are meant for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you sm for reading! i really enjoyed writing this
> 
> background terms:
> 
> McCarthyism: A moment in the 1940's through 50's where senator Joseph McCarthy baselessly accused people of being communists during the red scare. It ended when he went too far, eventually accusing army generals of being communist sympathizers. 
> 
> HUAC: House Un-American Activities Committee. They accused many actors of being communists and imprisoned them without trial. Regan also got his political career started here
> 
> Friend of Dorothy: a slang term for gay, used by gay men to identify each other. 
> 
> Gay Space Communism: fully automated luxury gay space communism is a meme


End file.
